scribbles tagged ‘cute accent’

The light spring breeze danced with his loose, sparkling, Celtic curls “Can I interest you on some gravel Mam?”

The earnest delivery by a boy untouched by razors was enough to make me laugh. Laugh out loud in the old fashioned, diaphram-shaking nature of the emotion. “Thank you, but no thank you, I’m looking for a wisteria in a pot, do you have any?”

Pale as his completion was, this question still managed to still further bleach colour. In seconds, self-disappointment showed, more effectively than words, across his face. “it’s my second day, I’m only really familiar with the gravel, but I know someone who can help us”

He walked me towards another member of staff “that’s a lovely accent you’ve got, where are you from?”

“England, do you have a garden?” Oh dear, I’m interviewing him for his job, must stop being so judgemental…

He introduced me to the next assistant, a boy who looked young enough to still be in high school with the heavy black loose curls that I associate with Italians. I asked about Wisteria. The Celtish boy quickly added “She’s from England, that’s the accent”

I suspect they don’t get many people from outside this city district of South Minneapolis. The Italian looking boy replied with a ‘Whatever’ nonchalance “It’s my first day, I don’t know” By now, the store manager had noticed the flocking of her new employees and made a very personable b-line for me. She found out about my general gardening requirements and the boys hovered in the background, witnessing an excellent role model.

No wisteria yet, but I’ll be back. I could even put in a personalised order for the wisteria of my choice. I left empty handed and happy

colleague (and 2): my wife (girlfriend) is from Bristol, she sounds like you

In my new job I’m being compared to wives or girlfriends at least once a week, I suspect its intended to be flattering, it feels slightly creepy.

I’ve learned that I am not spontaneously told the wife/girlfriend’s name. The ‘wife/girlfriend’ stays defined by their relationship. She is theirs (‘my’) as opposed to belonging to someone-else (‘his’), or even being a free-agent that chooses them (I am ‘her’ lover). Lack of a name makes this person into a role rather than a person, it’s subtly dehumanising. Knowing that I’m rarely spontaneously told the name, I now always ask, to raise the wife/girlfriends status in our conversations to that of the unique and special person that she is:

wendy: what’s her name?

Being compared to sexual partner is creepy, but not quite as creepy as being told they wish their partner was more like me. I’m still new, that kind of comparison may yet come when they know me better.

3 male colleages and I wandered along a crowded Bourbon St (New Orlean’s) on a balmy November Saturday night. The first night of a work related conference, we were full of smiles and energy. A Sassy Young American Lass (SYAL) worked straight up to me, flung her arms around my neck and attached her mouth to mine. She stopped us all in our tracks. I peeled her tentacles from around my neck, held her shoulders at arms length

wendy: excuse me, but I don’t think we’ve been introduced

SYAL: ooooOOOOOOOooooo and a cute English accent TOO!

wendy: incase there is any doubt, I’m not a lesbian

SYAL: You look like a lesbian, ashame, ciao…

Turning to a giggling colleague who, unbeknownst to me at that time was ‘polyamorous’ (a swinger) and, was much amused my complete lack of flow with the young lady.

wendy: what does an american lesbian look like?

swinger: you

wendy: big nose, spectacles, flat shoes and a confident swagger?

swinger: short hair

Later that night he put a slightly non-sober me in a Taxi to make sure I got home without being accosted for my cute crop. A subsequent informal survey of my US friends determined that locally short hair looked very lesbian….

Since repatriating to the UK I have not been the lucky recipient of any spontaneous exclamations of ‘cute accent’. It has been pointed out that I sound foriegn. I attribute this ‘foriegn accent’ accusation to remnants of my regional, Bristol, burr. It is possible that the following comment counts as an English equivalent of saying ‘cute accent’, it is also possibly something different:

English person in open-plan office (EPIOO): I heard your dulcet tones nearby and thought I’d take the opportunity to talk to you

Wendy: Oh (signifying a double message of I wonder if that means cute accent? and what does the EPIOO want?)

American: recur (giggles) re-OH-kerr, with an o, is that an English version?

I can spell occurance. If I need a second occurance I may be cornered into attempting a spelling of re-occur, reoccur, if it just keeps on happening I have to remember to drop an o and a c to let it recur. It’s all too complicated… …I wonder why, I failed to find any evolutionary descriptions of these words.

The usual Standard words are recur, meaning â€œto return (to),â€ â€œto come back (to),â€ â€œto occur again,â€ as in The trouble recurred last week for the dozenth time; recurrence, meaning â€œone of several repetitions, yet another return,â€ as in If thereâ€™s another recurrence, we must take action; and the related adjective recurrent. Reoccur and reoccurrence are said to differ from recur and recurrence in that they suggest a first or single repetition: That odd noise reoccurred an hour later. They are rare in Edited English, and most desk dictionaries donâ€™t include them, but they appear fairly often in the speech of the inexperienced as synonyms for recur and recurrence: That odd noise reoccurred just after youâ€™d left. Its reoccurrence made me nervous. Especially in writing, best practical advice is to stick with recur and recurrence, for one repetition or many.

He’s still actually holding my hand and just gazing into my eyes. This behaviour is not unusual amongst US boys when they first hear me speak. I slowly removed my hand and decide to let him recover speech on his own time.

Wendy: I’ll arrange for us to meet for 30 mins or so to work-out the details of blah-di-blah-di-blah, does that sound ok?

Sometimes people snap-out of it when they realise I’m going. He smiled and nodded, I smiled then pranced out of the room….

Call me paranoid, but I suspect many Americans are so busy silently sniggering over the way I’ve pronounced a word that they don’t actually hear what I’ve tried to say. This Canadian was exceptional both in laughing out loud and in admitting to missing my point. I like these kind of exceptions.